“Stone and Felicity had lunch in London,” Dino explained to his wife.

“You could have driven down with me,” Stone said.

“I didn’t know until I got back to the shop that I would be free,” she said.

Stone poured everyone a drink, and they sat down around the fire.

“Oh,” Viv said, “I have news.”

“Tell us,” Stone replied.

“I had a couple of my people look into the background of your friend Rose, and they came up with an address in Ennismore Mews, Knightsbridge. She lives in a little house there, formerly owned by one Lady Margot Balfour.”

“Rose actually told me about that,” Stone said, “but without the Lady Balfour part.”

“It seems,” Felicity said, “that Ms. McGill is, in fact, Lady Margot Balfour.”

“No, no,” Viv said. “The good lady was supposed to have married the 4th Viscount Oakham last spring . . .”

“But she didn’t,” Felicity interjected.

“Well, no, she could hardly do that,” Viv said, “since her car was T-boned by a gasoline delivery truck when she was on the way to her rehearsal dinner. She and her maid of honor were killed instantly.”

19

Felicity was, for once, speechless.

“Did I say something wrong?” Viv asked.

“What is your source for that information?” Felicity finally asked.

“A researcher at my London office found a Times obituary,” Viv said.

“You said this was last spring?”

“April, I believe.”

“Looks like somebody forgot to change the name on the Ennismore Mews deed—and the utilities,” Stone said.

Viv looked at her watch. “My office is closed,” she said. “I’ll speak to them again tomorrow.”

“My office never closes,” Felicity said. She stood, walked to where her handbag lay on the sofa, retrieved her phone, and began using it. “Call me the minute you sort this out,” she said finally, and hung up.

Stone held her chair for her.

“My people are digging further,” Felicity said.

“Have you spoken to Brigadier Fife-Simpson about Rose?” Stone asked.

“I’m not ready to bring him into this,” she replied. “And I’ve instructed my staff to that effect.”

They had dessert and were on coffee and brandy when Felicity’s handbag rang. She dug out her phone, sat before the fire, and spoke for a few minutes, then hung up. The others joined her.

“Well?” Stone asked.

“Here it is,” Felicity said. “Lady Margot Balfour is, indeed, deceased. She had a younger sister named Rose, who, while she was at Oxford, was married to a fellow medical student named John McGill. She divorced him two years ago, and has continued to use his name, but is still listed as Rose Balfour on the medical register. She was also named in her sister’s will as sole heir, so she now owns the Ennismore Mews house, or will when the estate is finally sorted out.”

“So Rose has not been lying?” Stone asked.